


Benny

by redtoblack



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Benedict POV, M/M, Quentin and Eliot being Kings, and idiots, idiots to lovers, with help from one mapmaking friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28518036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtoblack/pseuds/redtoblack
Summary: Benedict had always rather suspected that soulmates were not, as the new rulers would say, “a thing.” Not for non-aquatic creatures, anyway, since he knew a very nice river otter couple and swan triad who would discuss the concept at length, at least in the extent to which they found it relevant to their kind.In light of such matters, the mapmaker was finding himself a little bitconfused.Children of Earthwerenon-aquatic, he was sure of it. But. It was always possible there was something he may have missed.-- or, Benedict lends a helping hand.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 18
Kudos: 45
Collections: Peaches and Plums Stockings 2020





	Benny

**Author's Note:**

  * For [freneticfloetry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freneticfloetry/gifts).



> One (1) Benedict for one (1) you!
> 
> Thank you stormcoming for the beta and being excited with me about the map boy!

Benedict had always rather suspected that soulmates were not, as the new rulers would say, “a thing.” Not for non-aquatic creatures, anyway, since he knew a very nice river otter couple and swan triad who would discuss the concept at length, at least in the extent to which they found it relevant to their kind.

In light of such matters, the mapmaker was finding himself a little bit _confused._

Children of Earth _were_ non-aquatic, he was sure of it. Unless their record books truly left that much to be desired — and as someone who helped write the record books, he did hope that was not the case. On close inspection, Benedict had observed nothing that would mark the Children of Earth as any more evolutionarily suited to a watery lifestyle than the average Fillorian human. But. It was always possible there was something he may have missed.

Because the new High King and his oft-absent, never-appropriately-dressed King Quentin struck every target that Benedict could think of. Every detail he had heard or read or observed as denoting the behavior of soulmates, they exhibited, in full, without a doubt.

Even more baffling, they did not seem to be aware of this fact. In Benedict’s experience, soulmates typically lived in the same place when opportunity allowed, at least sleeping there together, even if they spent the majority of their waking hours apart.

The High King and King Quentin, they spent their days together, whenever both were present, yet quartered in rooms an entire hallway apart. They could be seen to communicate without spoken words, despite neither being of any noteworthy psychic ability (unlike the skilled Traveler Penny, who no one had explained to Benedict why he had not been chosen as King) and the distinct lack of body language available to the human form; yet when they did speak, it was with frequent, sometimes egregious, errors of misunderstanding. When one was upset, they could be calmed and cheered by the touch of the other; yet such action was often followed by periods of physical avoidance, and Benedict himself had witnessed several aborted motions through which it seemed one was attempting to reach out to the other, and then, for some unthinkable reason, decided to withhold comfort. When something was wrong, the other would of course experience the feelings as if they were his own; and yet, as was the case with so many other attributes of their curious approach to their bond, they completely refused to acknowledge the possibility that it were anything other than their own problem.

Perhaps they were simply idiots? Benedict had, of course, considered the possibility. The new High Queen had certainly referred to them as such often enough.

Yet that was neither enough to ease Benedict’s curiosity nor his uncomfortable sadness at their behavior.

The final piece of information he knew about soulmates was that they were incomplete without their match by their side. Once a bond had been solidified, and remained unbroken by both parties, they could not simply...ignore it. Not without subjecting themselves to a bitter loneliness and regret that Benedict would not wish on any creature, aquatically inclined or otherwise. It was unheard of.

Which was how Benedict found himself plodding through the wide stone halls of Whitespire on one more errand than planned for today, headed towards the study off of the High King’s chambers, where Tick had informed him His Majesty would be. He had taken along a map of the halls, unnecessary in that Benedict of course knew the route, necessary in that Benedict was feeling nervous. The straight, nicely brushed lines and labels of the map eased his mind as he drew closer to a conversation for which he very much wished he could have a map of the same sort.

_High King Eliot, I’m afraid you have a soulmate, and in fact you’ve been treating him rather poorly...High King Eliot, it might surprise you to learn that King Quentin is in fact your soulmate, and you have been doing each other a great disservice by...My King, I have reason to believe you may be under false pretenses with regards to your supposedly platonic relationship with oh gods no, not that one...My King. (Wait for his acknowledgement.) I am sorry to interrupt. Yes, that’s better; My King (wait), my apologies for the interruption, but there is something I must inform you of regarding your brother King…_

And so it went, until Benedict’s pointy shoes carried him to the door of the study, which opened at his knock. Clutching the map tightly (but in that special way that would leave the parchment without any unsightly wrinkles), he recited his favorite version of the script.

“My King, apologies for the interruption.” Pause.

“Go ahead, Benedict.” Success.

“Thank you, Sire. There is something I must discuss with you regarding King Quentin, that strongly concerns both of your well-being. If you would allow me your time?”

His Majesty gave Benedict an odd look, then let the door fall open further, revealing King Quentin seated at the long table inside. Benedict kicked his bunny for staying silent — of course they would be together, Benedict of all people should have guessed it.

Nothing for it now. This conversation would have to include the both of them, then. Actually, this might have been the preferable route, since King Quentin looked up from his book and smiled gladly as soon as he saw Benedict.

“Of course! Come in, please. Take a seat,” he called, gesturing to the chair in front of him. Benedict nodded and did so, barely resisting rolling his eyes at the closeness of their chairs as the High King returned to his, practically touching elbows with Quentin.

“What’s this about? I can’t imagine maps would have much to do with Q’s and my well-being,” he said, exchanging a look with his brother King. For all that his tone implied ease, Benedict had always been good at reading faces — after all, they were like maps in many ways, or perhaps it was the other way around — and the edge of worry was evident.

“Not to worry, Sire, there is no imminent danger and the matter can be resolved quite quickly,” he assured him. “I simply...have done some interest-based research in other areas, and I believe that one such area of expertise is quite pertinent to your situation, although I admit up front that I am not certain how.”

“Our ‘situation?’” the High King asked, as King Quentin echoed with, “What do you mean?”

“You and King Quentin,” he said, then turned his gaze on the lesser King, just in case there was any ambiguity — it seemed warranted — “yourself and High King Eliot, are soulmates.”

“What?”

“Oh, no, Benedict, we aren’t,” the High King laughed, “we aren’t together like that.”

Benedict pressed his lips very firmly together to keep from making a face. He wasn’t sure what face, exactly, he was trying to avoid, but if the flash of hurt he saw crackling across King Quentin’s expression was any indication, it was not a face he wanted the High King to see him make during this conversation.

He surreptitiously looped his ankles around the sturdy legs of his chair instead, pressing inwards to release the energy he was bundling up by keeping neutral.

“That is precisely my point, your Majesty. You have established a soul bond with one another, but you do not acknowledge it, and you do not allow it precedence in your behavior. I cannot stress enough how much suffering this is bringing the both of you, and how unnecessary.”

A biscuit would be very helpful right now. There were some in his chambers right now, left as a reward for getting through this conversation. But now that he thought of it, it would have been nice to bring one with him, to eat in the hall on the way back.

He wasn’t sure he was making much progress here, anyway. King Quentin was looking down and away, his long hair hiding part of his face from view, but Benedict could still make out a tremulous frown and close-knit brows. High King Eliot was lounging in his chair, smile stiffer than poorly scraped parchment, and from what Benedict knew of his moods, he was about to get kicked out.

“Benedict,” as expected, icy cold, “I appreciate your concern,” it definitely sounded like he did not, “but I fail to see how this is any of your business. You may go now.”

At least he tried. At least his biscuits would be waiting. “Yes, your Majesty.”

He made it out of his seat and just a few feet away from the door when —

“Benedict, wait.”

Oh, King Quentin. You and that open-carriage heart of yours. He would never say it, but it was pity that grasped Benedict’s heart just then, drawing him back to his seat with a sigh he did not bother with hiding.

“Sire?”

“You speak as if soulmates are a — a truthfully accepted concept, here in Fillory? Something with signs, something that can be proven via evidence?” Quentin asked carefully. It was enough to lift Benedict’s mood slightly. He had always found it endearing when King Quentin tried to replicate the speech patterns that surrounded him in Whitespire. He never got it quite right, but he very clearly tried.

“That’s right, Sire. They are uncommon, especially among humans — allow me to ask, are Children of Earth semi-aquatic creatures?”

“Uh. No?”

“Ah. I see. As I said, soul bonds are uncommon among humans, but the study of such connections is a well-recorded and widely accepted notion. Do you not have this on Earth?” Benedict asked dubiously. It hadn’t occurred to him that the two Kings might have had no concept of the soul bond at all to draw upon.

“ _Soulmates?_ Of course not,” High King Eliot scoffed. Benedict blinked at him, very aware of the proper veneer of respect he was to afford the High King, equally aware of what he would much prefer to do if it were not so.

He turned back to King Quentin, who appeared to be taking this much better, even with a sort of childish wonder. “No? Um, we have them, but they’re considered fictional, only in stories,” he said.

Benedict frowned. “While I am aware that the talking animals of Earth ignore their human neighbors, surely the concept must have been observed? Your swans, for example, do they not frequently exhibit behavior of being bonded to specific others for long periods of time?”

The Kings looked to each other. High King Eliot rolled his eyes and responded, “I mean, they sometimes mate for life, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Benedict hummed. “That does sound like the way some soul bonds would be construed by Children of Earth, yes.”

“So — what you’re saying is, um —”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Quentin,” the High King cut him off. The words were too jerky to come off as authoritative. Instead it made him sound a little scared, which meant that this was even worse than Benedict had thought.

“Why the fuck not, Eliot? We got into a magical grad school and then _dropped out._ We’re kings of a mystical realm that I’ve been reading books about since I was a kid. You only got accepted because you know your Swayze, and you got arranged-marriage’d to a woman so hard that if you fuck someone else your _dick might explode._ So tell me, Eliot, please — where in all of that does being soulmates with me somehow cross the too-crazy line?”

The two Kings were staring at each other, practically nose-to-nose because they were sitting so close, different textures of anger flooding out towards the other. Quentin’s, a sprawling, bumpy rage, spiked with hurt. Eliot’s, a sleek, pointed thing, edges honed in fear. And of course, they could feel each other’s anger bleeding through the bond, and Benedict could practically see it seething in the inches between them.

Benedict wasn’t sure exactly what he had thought himself prepared for when he set out earlier, but he felt certain this was not it.

“You’re right, Quentin, if I so much as touched you I _would_ literally die a painful death, thanks for the reminder. This is supposed to help convince me to be your soulmate, _how,_ exactly?”

“I’m not _convincing_ you, asshole, it’s already done, or weren’t you listening? Our _souls_ are fucking _bonded._ Right, Benedict?”

Oh. Now they were both glaring at Benedict; that was an unfortunate turn of events. He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “If I may point out, your Majesties,” he began, gaining a small measure of confidence when neither of them interrupted, and pointed first to Eliot. “You are upset because the physical bond with Fen prevents you from being fully, um, engaged, in the way you would prefer, in a soul bond with Quentin.”

This was not his job this was not his job this was not his job. He was going to stop by the kitchens on the way back to his chambers. Get another container of biscuits.

“And you,” moving his finger to indicate Quentin, “are upset because Eliot is refusing to accept your bond in the first place. Yes?” They both nodded. “Then, _as I said earlier,_ the fix is quick and easy. Amend the marriage bond, so that Eliot no longer has need to be upset. Then Eliot can accept the soul bond, so that Quentin no longer has need to be upset. Like wetting a brush with water,” he finished with a shrug, hoping it looked less tired than he felt.

As he watched, awaiting some kind of answer, the anger slowly and then all at once drained from Eliot’s expression, leaving just a portion of the fear behind in a nervous lick of his lips. “You can — amend the marriage bond?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, of course, Sire,” he responded, puzzled. There were all sorts of records detailing how to do so, and the reasons various rulers had done it in the past. Before relations between human and talking animal Fillorians became stigmatized, there were some rare cases of a soul-bonded animal needing to be negotiated into a royal marriage.

Absurdly, Eliot let out a high-pitched laugh, slumping backwards in his chair and looking to Quentin. “Why does no one tell me these things?” he said, quiet enough as to seem to himself.

“So — we’re, um —” Quentin said, looking unsure whether it was yet appropriate to smile as he glanced tightly from his soulmate to Benedict and back. There his gaze caught, with a tiny frown and a tilt of his head, and when neither spoke or moved for several long moments, Benedict realized they must have been communing through their bond. It was the first time, then, that they would have done this on purpose, or even been aware that it was happening. Such a moment was beautiful, but equally private; Benedict stood to take his leave.

“Where are you going?” Eliot asked after him, voice far closer to normal than it had been for most of their conversation. “There’s still so much we don’t understand, we’d really, um. I’m sorry, for kicking you out earlier. We’d really appreciate it if you would stay to help.”

Benedict turned and bowed to the sight before him: two men who had somehow stumbled their way into one shared soul, hands loosely clasped over their chair arms. Kings once again. “Yes, your Majesties, of course I would be honored to help. But we do have our regular duties to attend to,” some of which included snacking, “and I shall need a short length of time with which to gather resources. With what you have already discovered, I think you can last one more day.” He managed a tense smile, which relaxed at the look of adoration flitting between them.

“Okay. Thank you, Benedict. Truly,” King Quentin said.

“Of course. Now I will take my leave, Sires. King Quentin, High King Eliot,” he acknowledged, bowing to each, before backing out of the room on light feet.

High Queen Margo had been correct. Those two were idiots. But, despite the unprecedented nature of the matter, they were soulmates — as well as his sovereigns — so Benedict would be gracious.

 _After_ he’d had his biscuits.


End file.
